


Constant

by AnxiousPhasma



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:41:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23570239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnxiousPhasma/pseuds/AnxiousPhasma
Summary: Geralt isn't used to people staying his life, eventually, everyone leaves. But not Jaskier. He is the one constant tide in this ocean that we call life. And Geralt wouldn't have it any other way.
Relationships: Fluff - Relationship, Geralt of Rivia - Relationship, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Gerskier - Relationship, Geskier is OTP, I have no tags that are unique, I'm not sure what I'm doing with this., Julian Alfred Pankratz - Relationship, angsty bois - Relationship, gerlion - Relationship, geskier - Relationship, jaskier x geralt, lord help me - Relationship
Comments: 11
Kudos: 147





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, it's Phas, this is my first fic in a very long time. There will be grammar erros, continuity errors, etc. You can find me on twitter with the handle @anxiousghost_. I am also open to posting one shots as well. Let me know what you would like to see??
> 
> There will be angst in this, and some possible NSFW scenes, I will always put a note prior to the pieces.

_The thing about destiny, is you never see it coming. You can try your hardest to verge the adventure down another path, but it always circles back to where you are meant to be. Destiny is sealed, a fate that cannot be convinced to change. It is stubborn, hearty, and provocative. Some people chase their destinies, chase to feel the fulfillment that it brings. Some people run from it. Taking any nook and cranny they can to disappear from their fate, only to find it staring them down, caught like a feral cat in a dark alleyway. Destiny always wins, and two people linked by destiny, will always find each other._

__

Black threads adored with gold buttons gleaming in the candle light that faded over their room. It wasn't often that Geralt allowed Jaskier to sleep in the same bed, not even the same room. But tonight was different. A full moon hung over the land, casting a silvery glow over all who dare venture out into the night. Tonight however, the two stayed inside, and there was silence for once. Jaskier had set aside the lute, Geralt, the swords. Neither spoke as the bard worked his magic. He had gotten pretty good at stitching up wounds, he had to with how often Geralt gets himself into brawls. Perhaps it was Geralt's ever brooding face, but even then, Jaskier had no idea why anyone would dare mess with a Witcher.

"Hold still, unless you would like more holes to riddle your body." Jaskier uttered. His tongue had found refuge stuck between his teeth in concentration. The Witcher occasionally hissed as the needle seamlessly threaded crimson string, closing the wound he had accumulated on his left shoulder blade.

"Honestly Geralt, how do you always manage to get yourself into trouble." the bard quipped in a playful tone.

"I should be asking you the same thing." Geralt grunted. The Witcher had simply been protecting Jaskier's honor, and this was the thanks he got? Bruises littering his body, a couple of scrapes and a stab wound that left his left arm in pain.

"Now, now, I've been behaving for the past few weeks, and yet you, I have to keep patching you up like you're some sort of ragged doll. You should be lucky I had the healer teach me a few things. Otherwise you might bleed out onto the floor with how many stitches you have at this moment." Jaskier hummed, tying a knot at the end of the string that it would remain intact. Jaskier stood from the bed that he had been kneeling on and brought the needle over to the dresser where a bowl of water and a fresh cloth laid. Picking up the bowl and cloth, his eyes dashed to the quiet man, who remained tense, even after the mock surgery.

"Geralt, I know why you did it, and while I appreciate the thought, I would rather have you in one piece." he sighed, closing the distance between them. His hand dipped the cloth into the cool water then dabbed along the fresh stitching on Geralt's shoulder. It had taken them months, almost a year, to get back to who they were after the day on the mountain. Jaskier had left, like Geralt had implied he wanted him to, but it didn't take long for Geralt to follow.

Geralt only followed because in his long life, he had never met a man as brave as Jaskier. Who in their right mind, at age 18, decides that an intimidating, silver haired mutant was the one they wanted to travel with? Who in their right mind would tell this man that he had bread in his pants with the confidence that could blow even the Witcher away? Julian Alfred Pankratz. They had spent years together, bouncing between towns on ludicrous adventures. Sleepless nights followed the two through the forests, but it was reality they chose to share with one another. One that even apart, they longed for.

"He made a mockery of you." The Witcher spoke, his voice in a low octave and rumbling through his chest. His citrine eyes followed up the outline of Jaskier's body to his eyes, locking onto them. His own, shone bright through the shadows in the room, filled with anger. Not anger towards Jaskier, but the other man who _dared_ to insult the bard.

"I know you wish to protect my honor, but honestly Geralt, if you fought every person who had a sour sentence for me, you would be dead. One must pick their battles. And as long as I am travelling with you, those words do not hurt me." He sighed, using a wet fingertip to tilt Geralt's head up. Their eyes locked and Jaskier rose an eyebrow up.

"Now stop your pouting. There is ale in the pitcher by the tankards, I am going out to find us some food. And don't argue about that, you are in no shape to hunt." Jaskier put his hands up as the other's gaze shot up in protest.

Jaskier carefully peeled away from the Witcher and grabbed his overcoat. Within the blink of an eye he was out the door, leaving Geralt alone once again with his thoughts. Where would he be without Jaskier constantly talking his ear off? Would he be fine? Or would he be longing for the companionship the other provided him?

He never really tells Jaskier, but he is appreciative of what he does for the Witcher. How he gives him the support he's never gotten except from Vesemir. Geralt knew that he was different from the rest, even when he was turned. But he didn't know the extent until he met that bright eyed, chestnut haired bard who for the life of him he could not shake. There's that saying, "Those who are linked by destiny, will always find a way back to each other." and for a while, he believed that Ciri, the lioness, was his destiny, but upon further investigation, it was Jaskier.

His smooth voice, the way that he smiles, even the silly, colorful clothes he's worn. Geralt has grown to adore every aspect of the bard, it's just that he has difficulty expressing that. It's not that he doesn't have emotions like the townsfolk believe, if anything, his emotions are heightened. He's learned to lock away what he thinks, what he feels, because it's always been used against him. But even after both men wake from a hazy dream after a night of drinking, Jaskier does not poke and prod at what Geralt had disclosed to him the night before. It's relieving. It's like Geralt is allowed to breathe around him.

When they're out in the forest, sitting by a low burning fire, that's where Geralt feels most at home. He's surrounded by wilderness, the sounds of winds rushing through the autumn leaves and small chirps from the birds fill his ear. Not just that, but Jaskier is still there. He would've thought, eventually this bard is going to leave. He's going to realize that he's meant for more than endless cold nights; and yet, he remains constant in Geralt's life. Like a mountain refusing to leave the ocean's side.

It took him this long to realize, he doesn't like Jaskier, he loves him. His fascination with the color yellow, the way his fingers play nimbly over the iron strings of the lute. The way his voice sounds when he first wakes up in the morning, soft, breathy. It would send shivers down Geralt's spine. His chestnut hair splaying around his head like a woodland halo. Jaskier was a siren, not in the literal sense, but he drew Geralt in with every word his spoke. Geralt lived on the small quips the other gave him, craved them.

The Witcher was suddenly thrust from his thoughts when Jaskier entered the room once more, holding a wicker basket filled with salted meats and vegetable they could cook.

"Where did you get all that?" Geralt pondered. The coin was in Roach, and there was no way that Jaskier was going to the stables at this time of night.

"Well, lucky for us, since you killed that Striga for the townsfolk, they are more than happy to donate their own foods to us. Don't want to leave the Witcher starving." the bard smiled. He went silent as he got to work, preparing the various foods into a stew that Geralt and him could eat. For the first time in forever, they even had enough for seconds. Typically, Jaskier would purposely take less so that Geralt could eat more. He was the one who brought the most coin in, he should have more food. More food equals more energy. Yes, Jaskier has gotten thinner over the years, but not sickly. He's gotten lean with muscle from the constant hiking he does to keep up with Geralt and Roach.

Geralt's eyes followed Jaskier as bounced along the empty room. Jaskier's ever giddy persona lighting the room up. The air felt lighter with Jaskier around. It felt calmer, it felt… _constant_.


	2. Chapter 2

"No, Geralt, wait!" Jaskier called out after a fuming Witcher. He scrambled from the lousy chair he had been resting on in the tavern, nursing a cup of ale until one of the patrons began to tease him for the clothes he had been wearing.

He always did wear flashy clothes, but this time, it was a wee bit different. Jaskier sported wonderful doublet, adored with silver buttons that had small buttercups designed throughout the craven fabric. Each stitch took nearly an hour to finish, as the poor bard wasn't too familiar with the pick stitch, but he wanted to try it out. And God's know that he needed everything to be _perfect _.__

His poor fingers were littered with small punctures and he had stayed up nearly all night trying to finish it, he wanted to look nice, it was a special day after all.

"He insulted your clothes, which I know you worked hard on. It just won't stand." Geralt grunted, slowed down by the full weight of the bard latching itself onto Geralt's back.

"What did I say last night?" Jaskier pointed.

"That I'd be full of holes if I fought everyone who insulted you." Geralt sighed. Perhaps he was right, fighting everyone who passed a negative thought toward the bard has gotten Geralt exhausted. He rarely picks up contracts anymore because he's too busy defending the honor of a bard who clearly pays no mind to it.

"That's right. Yeesh, I don't know what's gotten into you Geralt, but you're acting like an over protective boyfriend." the bard mentioned as he slid off the Witcher. Geralt froze in his tracks, eyebrow furrowing down in confusion. He was acting like that, and Jaskier noticed. If he wasn't careful, Jaskier might start prodding as to why he is acting this way.

"Fine." Geralt grunted, sheathing the silver sword he had on him at all times. He had to learn how to pick his battles, and Jaskier made it clear he didn't want Geralt fighting those battles. Geralt rolled his shoulders back, now they felt incredibly light without Jaskier's weight on them. He eyed the bard who was absent mindedly fiddling with his sleeves, testing out how he likes them to lay on his forearms.

"Geralt?" Jaskier whispered, eyes locked on the Witcher who's gaze still hasn't broken from him, "Are you alright?"

"What? Yes." Geralt stated firmly, snapping out of the haze he had found himself in, "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You've never looked at me that long. I wasn't sure if there was something on your mind." Jaskier followed behind the Witcher like a lost puppy. He wasn't sure was exactly what was going on, but ever since they got back together after the day in the mountains, Geralt's been uncharacteristically _clingy_. Staring at Jaskier like he was some fever induced dream that would disappear as soon as he looked away. Things definitely had gotten complicated when Jaskier finally returned to Geralt. The two spent nearly three days locked inside a tavern room, basking in each other's company. They had gotten far too drunk in far too short of time, the days blurred together and neither of them can really remember what exactly happened. Jaskier tried to bring it up once, but Geralt had completely shot him down, like he always does.

But thing had gotten better; Geralt treated Jaskier with more respect, he had helped Jaskier pick out colorful fabric (even though he prefers black). He spent time listening to Jaskier's ballads and could've sworn one of them was about him, but he wasn't about to open that conversation up. They behaved like best friends finally, laughing at jokes only the two of them understand, getting lost in the moments in the forests between towns. But something definitely was off.

Jaskier knew exactly how he felt about Geralt; if he could spend all of eternity with the Witcher, he would. Those few months away from Geralt proved to the bard that he needed his companionship. Geralt on the other hand, realized that he's never had someone quite like Jaskier before. Someone who puts up with his moods and remains giddy despite the dark cloud that follows Geralt around. Jaskier who, even as Geralt protests, combs the silver locks back and puts the half up due back into Geralt's hair. Jaskier who, even when Geralt is half unconscious, stays by his side, sews him up, and brings him back to life. Geralt finally understand that without Jaskier, he wouldn't be lost, he'd be _dead_.

The two men headed over to where Roach was stationed, tied to a post just outside the stables. She had been relaxing when Geralt suddenly took the reins and mounted onto the saddle. He peered down to Jaskier, who was currently fixated on settled the lute on his back so that it wouldn't constant hit him when he walked. Jaskier peeked up with bright eyes, pupils dilating as soon as they landed on Geralt's form. He truly was smitten by this Witcher, even the constant scowl made his lips turn up into a genuine smile.

"I suppose I am ready when you are." Jaskier nodded. He was sure that if they had left something behind, he would've remembered it. So the two took off, the road being their only guidance towards to the end of their journey.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This seems like a one shot, but it definitely part of the other chapters.

Jaskier sat in front a crackling fire, watching as the flames danced in front of him to an imaginary tune. If only he could make the bodies of patrons move like this; smooth transitions, chaotic, like a lullaby for the eyes. The shadows played on his features, dipping around the curves of his face, pushing his cheek bones to be more prominent. He had been sitting quietly whilst Geralt dragged a ragged stone down the length of his sword, sharpening the blades.

Sometimes the silence drives the bard crazy; to not hear a single grunt come from the Witcher. Or maybe the trees are being uncharacteristically quite that day, but for now, the silence was a welcomed friend. The energy between the two had been strained for quite some time now, and Jaskier knew the only way to fix it, was to speak up, but the thoughts he wished to share remained in the back of his throat, trapped by the fear that Geralt might snap if Jaskier were to pipe up.

The bard was startled from his thoughts when Geralt had suddenly stood up from his previous spot and sheathed the glittering metal. His eyes followed as the Witcher walked over to his saddle bag, which laid dormant on the ground where Geralt had chosen to sleep that night. After a few moments of rummaging around, the Witcher produced a silver medallion. Jaskier knew that it had some sort of engraving on it, but he could not make out the details as the shadows were not casting across it in a way that his eyes could focus on it.

Without so much as a word, Geralt crossed the distance that kept them apart and knelt down so that he was face level with the bard; whom at this time, was speechless.

"Yes?" Jaskier asked, his eyes darting back and forth, trying to focus on the yellow burn of Geralt's iris', but it was like he was staring straight into the flames once more.

"Hold still." Geralt grumbled. Now, he was not a soft man, he did not give gifts, he did not say mushy things, but here he was, dying the black leather strap around Jaskier's neck, with the silver wolf medallion hanging below the bards collar bone. It had an intricate design, with two gold jewels where the eyes should be. Jaskier peered down at the pendant, his eyes widening at the intricacy, it was warm in his palm, like there was a spell on it.

"Geralt.." Jaskeir began.

"Shush. I..realized that after the days in the mountain, after we came back together, I never wanted you to be without me. Someone has to look out for your dumbass and keep you out of trouble." the Witcher spoke, a small grin forming across his lips.

Jaskier's eyes locked onto Geralt's, his own cheeks turning a bright shade of pink. "How much did it cost? This looks handmade.."

"It was. And I had to give up my own pendant so that the smith could copy the design in it. Don't lose it." Geralt spoke, a hand on Jaskier's shoulder. This was the closest he could get to being sappy, something was holding him back from truly showering the bard with gifts. It had taken him months to gather up enough coin to pay for something like this. The jewels alone cost nearly half of his earnings, and plenty of moving around until he met the person who sold them. But it was worth it. To see the bard stare down at the pendant with a smile on his lips, it was worth it.

_What if he still leaves you?_ The voice spoke in Geralt's head. That's true, what if he still did leave? Well, at least Geralt would still be with him, through the medallion. Like a ghost that clung to his soul, and while he may not admit it, Jaskier would forever be engrained into his brain, as the one person who made his life worth living.

Geralt was pulled from his thoughts by a gentle hand, tilting his head in Jaskier's direction. The bard gave his own head a cute little tilt, eyes locked on Geralt's.

"I love it." he spoke lowly, like he was afraid he might scare the wind if he spoke any louder. Jaskier wasted no time, leaning up and pressing his lips against the Witcher's. It just felt like the right thing to do in this moment. The funny thing was; Geralt didn't pull away. He welcomed it. One large hand took hold of Jaskier's waist and tugged him closer. Their lips moved against each other's like puzzle pieces searching for an entrance to their home.

The taste, the sensation of the other, it burned through Geralt's mind like wildfire, silencing any unwanted thoughts. Any dark cloud that previously hung above his head and dissipated, leaving nothing but a light feeling buzzing around his brain. The bard's lips were soft, like Geralt had imagined, they felt shy, like they were holding something back. His tongue pressed behind his teeth; this is what it felt like. To be loved by someone. Someone who stared right in the face of danger and scoffed. Someone who, no matter what would happen, wanted to be here.

Geralt thought he had found refuge when he went to Kaer Morhen, but he was wrong; Jaskier was his home, where he was meant to be.


	4. Chapter 4

_"Breathe, just breathe, you're going to be okay." Geralt spoke softly, hushing the aching bard in his arms._ _But even he didn't believe what he was saying._ _How had they gotten to this point, where did Geralt go wrong? Down what path should he had turned? It wasn't supposed to go this way, Jaskier was supposed to stay with him, be his constant star, his guidance towards the end. Jaskier wasn't supposed to leave him, not like this. It was happening far too soon. The bard should have salt and pepper hair to match Geralt's, he should be slower, and less bouncier. The crow's feet in the corner of his eyes should be prominent and should match the smile that graced his lips. Not like this._

_"Geralt…" Jaskier coughed, hand holding his stomach, "Geralt, it's okay… I'll be okay.." Jaskier nodded, a soft sad smile on his blood covered lips, "Go fight the monster, I'll be here when you get back." They both knew this was a lie, but Jaskier always sought to qualm any worries that would pass the Witcher's mind._

_"No, Jaskier. I'm not leaving you here by yourself… not like this." Geralt stated firmly, though the thought still lingered in his mind. How could Jaskier be so stupid? Geralt had it handled, he should've stayed out of the way._

_No, you should've kept him out of harm's way, he thought to himself. It was right, the little voice in his head said what he should've done, so why didn't he do that? Jaskier insisted that he come along on this adventure, and here they are, at the end of their journey._

* * *

Geralt sat up from his spot on the forest floor, sweat beading across his forehead. His eyes dart back and forth as he tried to make sense of what he just dreamt. His head suddenly whipped to the side, sight falling onto a sleeping bard who looked far too pale to be alive. Geralt's heart was racing, a steady thumping sound resonating in the base of his rib cage. _N_ _o no no, this can't be real_ , he thought to himself.

He found his body moving effortlessly to the bard's side, one hand carefully taking Jaskier's slim wrist and he pressed two finger's to the base of his arm. _One…two…three…four…_ seconds passed and with each fleeting moment, his blood slowly cooled. Jaskier was safe for now, he was alive. That's all that mattered to Geralt. The Witcher slowly sat back on the ground, his legs extending before him as he looked over Jaskier's features. He looked so… _peaceful_. He watched the bard for what seemed like hours, watched how the shadows crossed his face, how soft his skin looked. His gaze traveled along each line and curve that made who Jaskier who he was; from the bridge of his nose, to the faded crow's feet that showed truly he had aged.

Oh, to go back to the day that Jaskier thrusted himself into Geralt's life. The young, giddy, excited bard who stole bread from a Tavern and sang about uncouth materials. The bard who's eyes lit up as soon as they set upon the younger, brooding Geralt. The bard who followed after this Witcher, despite every notion said he should not. He wanted to go back before these feelings started to swell in the pit of Geralt's stomach and the sheer thought of losing Jaskier made Geralt want to hurl. But, he also wanted to stay here.

In the reality they had built together, of travelling across the lands, never enough coin, never enough food to fill their bellies. The world where he fought for Jaskier in petty squabbles but would do it regardless of what the bard said. The world where he could wake up to Jaskier sleeping beside a dying fire, shaking from the dew that had accumulated across his body, the world where Geralt could toss his cloak over the man, and Jaskier wouldn't think twice about it. This world where he got to taste Jaskier's skin, soft, sweet like honey, and delicious in every way that it is wrong. The world where he was _wanted_.

Geralt, once again pulled from his thoughts as the bard rolled over on his side, giving a yawn as his eyes fluttered open. At first, Jaskier stared at the forest floor, recollecting exactly where he was, before his eyes traveled up and connected to Geralt's.

"Geralt?" he muttered sleepily, having not fully woken up quite yet. The bard carefully sat up, using his finger tips to wipe away any sleep that lingered in the corner of his eyes. Blinking rapidly for a moment, the bard was caught off guard by Geralt placing a palm on the nape of his neck.

"You're awake, good. I heard there was a contract for me in the next town over. We should pack up and head out if we want to take that offer before someone else." Geralt uttered. There were probably questions swirling around Jaskier's brain as to why he woke up to Geralt staring down at him like he had seen a ghost, but worry not little bard, Geralt was simply making sure you were alive. The Witcher stood from his spot, dusting off his thighs as he went round, collecting the various items that he had strewn across the ground.

Jaskier peeled himself away from the dirt and leaves, paying no mind to the small twigs that had found solitude in his chestnut curls. He simply rolled up the thin blanket he had laid on and stuffed it into one of the saddle bags on roach. Geralt, keeping a careful eye on the bard as he pulled his armor back on, tying it tight around his torso so that it would not fail him in the moment he needed it most. The Witcher found himself drawn to Jaskier like a moth to a candle flame; it may burn him in the end, but it was worth it to see the beauty.

Jaskier eventually looked over at Geralt and tilted his head, "Do I have something on my face?" he asked, left hand raising to rub whatever dirt may be dashed across his cheek. He's gotten quite used to Geralt staring at him, but he's never held eye contact for this long.

"No, there is nothing on your face." Geralt huffed, moving to continue packing their items up. Why does he stare like that? He makes it so blatantly obvious of his infatuation with the bard, it's almost comical.

"Then why do you keep staring at me like there is?" Jaskier questioned, his head tilting to the left in the most adorable manner, it made Geralt's cold interior melt. Curse Jaskier for always being his weakness and not even knowing it. Citrine eyes wandered over to where Jaskier stood, he had to act fast. Geralt was bad with words, even more so when they involved feelings.

"I'm not, you are imagining things." smooth Geralt, very smooth.

"Okay, well, are we going to talk about what happened last night, you know, when we kissed beside a low-burning fire. And you have me this medallion?" the bard quipped. Of course he had to bring it up, kissing someone is much more than tucking them into bed at night, or ensuring they have food to eat at the end of the day. Kissing someone was a sign of emotion, a sign of feeling, and Jaskier was not about to stand by and let Geralt brush that off as if it meant nothing. Because it meant _something_.

Geralt froze as soon as he heard those words, arms caught in the air like stones. Deep down, he knew he should talk to Jaskier about it, besides, he didn't pull away. It wasn't unwelcome, he just wasn't sure how to talk about it to say the least. The majority of his flings were just that, _flings._ They meant nothing to him, and more times than not, he had to _pay_ for the services. But Jaskier wasn't some common whore, and he deserved to know what is going on inside Geralt's brain. He deserved far more than Geralt could reasonably give him, even of the Witcher strained himself to give more.

"Jaskier…"

"Stop, before you blow it off, before you wipe that memory from your mind, you need to know, I liked it. I liked kissing you, and I have thought about how it would go for a million nights, but I never expected you to kiss back. I expected a shove, something, _anything_ but that. So you are not allowed to simply brush this off." Jaskier rarely ever stood up to Geralt's reserved persona, but Geralt understood the sudden boost of confidence. _It's important_. And rightfully so, the Witcher rarely showed emotion, especially whilst around Jaskier (unless of course he was pass out drunk), there was something about Jaskier that caused Geralt to clam up, even more so than he already was.

"I know, _I know._ I understand that you are seeking answers, I don't know how to give them to you Jaskier. Never once in my life have I felt feelings for someone that wasn't simply an obsession during a hunt. You're different." Geralt confided. The look in Jaskier's eyes could've blinded anyone, he was _different_. Though the poor bard wasn't sure if the difference was good or bad, but he would take it in any case.

"I'm _different_?" Jaskier queried, his head doing that ever present tilt in order to pull information from the Witcher. There was a part of Jaskier that knew the simple gesture got to Geralt in the most delicious way. It was like watching mountains crumble beneath your feet as to climbed to the tallest peak. It was like watching storms calm just at the call of your voice; it delectable to watch the Witcher falter and fumble over his words.

"By the gods— Jaskier. I don't know how to explain it. You're different. I _want_ you around. I want you to feel safe with me. I mean, I can't say I know exactly what I'm feeling, this is all new to me, I just know that I want you to remain by my side." Geralt sighed. That honestly was the best he could do. He knew it would only bring more questions to rise within the bard, but at this moment, he couldn't articulate exactly how he felt with Jaskier around, without sounding like he was writing the bard's next great ballad. All he knew, is that when Jaskier was around, he felt wanted. He felt appreciated, and even though he was the one who did most of the fighting, he felt safe. Like the bard would suddenly go feral and attack anyone who dared misuse Geralt's name.

Jaskier made something bloom inside Geralt's chest that he didn't even know could arise. Something warm, something calming. It felt like the whirlpools in his mind had finally ceased and he was able to actually _sleep_. Like someone set the sun on low burn, and let the shadows dance around in the glow. He felt— he felt like he was in love.

Geralt let out a soft sigh as he took the reins that tied Roach to a nearby tree and mounted the saddle. For a split second, he stared down at Jaskier before one strong hand grabbed Jaskier's forearm and hoisted him up onto the back. Something inside told him he couldn't allow Jaskier to trail behind him like a lost puppy anymore. They had passed that point of time.

Jaskier gave a soft squeak when he was lifted onto the horse, trying to get settled, though he's rarely ever ridden a horse, much less with someone else. With a small roll of his eyes, Geralt positioned Jaskier's hands around the Witcher, keeping him stationary in the spot he was in.

"Just hold on, and you'll be okay." Geralt grunted as he motioned for Roach to start moving once more. It would be another day and a half before they reached their destination, and boy, let's just say, they had no idea what was coming for them.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is really just a filler chapter, not going to lie.

The two men made their way through the muddy streets of Velen, which was eerily quiet, save for the sound of the wind rustling through fallen leaves that have long since been trampled down. Jaskier was slumped behind Geralt, only half awake as their journey was long and after the panicky feeling that swelled in the pit of his stomach from the mountain stretch, he was _exhausted_. Geralt swore that it was a faster route than crossing the grasslands, but he had completely forgotten that Jaskier wasn't particularly fond of heights. Oops.

The Witcher carefully lead Roach to a halt just outside the Inn, which he could see lights blazing through foggy windows as laughter spilled outside around them. It was a nice feeling, the one that came just before complete silence as he stepped into the room. Geralt tapped his finger along Jaskier's hand, a sad attempt to wake the bard up.

"Jaskier, we are here. Wake up. I don't want to have to carry you into the Inn again." Geralt muttered. His voice was in a low octave, rumbling through his chest like boulders falling down a cliff. Jaskier gave a small huff as he peeled himself away from the Witcher's back, grumbling as he nearly fell off Roach. Geralt, thankfully, caught him by the arm before he completely crashed. Maybe he should've just picked up the bard and carried him in, now he's being difficult.

"C'mon Jaskier, don't do this to me." Geralt huffed. Jaskier in turn rubbed his eyes clear of any sleep that was still finding solace in the corners. He carefully dropped his feet to the ground as he climbed off, a stretch ensuing with his limbs.

"I'm sorry, I haven't slept that well in ages…" he muttered softly. The bard's eyes soon filled with light and joy as he noticed they were in town, surrounded by poorly made homes and light that spilled into the streets. Jaskier always enjoyed seeing the lights of the town, loved seeing the shadows it casts. He was a poet in true nature; finding beauty in even the darkest of things.

The two men walked into the tavern, expecting to hear the continuing laughter, but as soon as they walked through, the crowd went silent.

' _Oh no. Here it comes._ ' Geralt thought to himself. While he was used to the silence, nothing could really prepare a man for the slurs that were thrown his way whenever he walked into the room. _Mutant, white one, freak_. The words rang in Geralt's mind like church bells on an early Sunday morning. Instead of the shouting that usually follows Geralt everywhere, he got a loud cheer as the patrons went back to their drinking.

Jaskier's lips soon twisted into a smile as he peered up at Geralt, "You told me Velen wasn't a nice place, and yet, so far, they are the only ones who have welcomed us."

"It's not a lovely place, it's a worn down, sad excuse for a town, with a bloody wife beater as their Baron. I did a contract for him once, and found that he beat his wife so badly, she lost their second daughter. So, while the common folk may be kind, the ones we must worry about is the Baron and his guards." Geralt grunted, following the small bard to a table in the corner. He slowly sat across from the chestnut hair and baby blue eyes adjacent to his citrine ones. Gods, he was going to be the death of him. He rose an eyebrow at the bard who was dancing in his seat, excitement being a drastic change in mood from moments before.

"What?" the bard quipped, tilting his head to the side.

"Nothing, it just seems you are not as tired as you claimed you were." Geralt chuckled, letting a breathy undertone out from the base of his chest. Jaskier always seemed to make Geralt chuckle with his sudden mood changes.

"I'm around _people_ again, Geralt. Not that I'm saying you're not a person, you definitely are, but I mean people, multiple, plural."

"I get it, Jaskier. You are a social butterfly." Geralt said, cracking a smile, "Why don't you grab your lute and get all these people dancing, you usually do."

"While that is a perfect idea," Jaskier paused, "I'm not sure I would get much of a rise out of these folks. I do believe they started their drinking _early_ today. Must be a celebration going on?"

"Perhaps. I will find out while I am getting us some ale-"

" _Wine_. Get us wine." Jaskier interrupted. Ah yes, wine. Sweet, sour liquid that always seems to make Jaskier just a little _too_ touchy. Not that Geralt has ever really pushed him away in that sense. He tried once, the bard completely ran off and Geralt couldn't find him for a whole night. Not a nightmare he needs to live in this moment.

Geralt peeled himself out of the booth and made his way to the bar keep. He kept his eyes low as he passed numerous drunken civilians; while they may be having a good time, drunkards always seem to explode at the random times, and he was not prepared for a fight at this time. Once at the bar, the Witcher pulled his riding gloves off, eyes moving up to see a ginger skinned maiden standing with an apron tied around her waist.

The maiden had large, almond shaped eyes, with the prettiest hazel color that Geralt has ever seen in a human. Small fleck of gold swam through her iris' and caught the glow of the candles strategically placed around the tavern. Her the bridge of her nose was pinched together to form a slender slope that widened out to a medium sized base. Her lips prominent with a defined cupids bow; blush colored lips that were clearly pained to be this shade. The corners of her mouth appeared to be curled up in a permanent smile as she swept the floor beneath her to rid it of the dust (and possibly other unmentionable items). The maid wore a lilac color dress as the base, and a corset with the brightest colored flower pattern, it could put even Jaskier to shame. To say that she doesn't have money would be a lie, but she did not give off the distinct features that she was the wife of a Baron.

The woman's eyes glanced up at Geralt as he tapped one finger to the table to grab her attention, and the smile melted from her lips, in place took a small frown. "Yes?" she answered.

"I would like to purchase a bottle of wine, and plate of food to share between my friend and I." he motioned over to Jaskier, who was sitting patiently, staring out the window that he was beside.

The woman nodded, wiping her hands off after she washed them from her previous activities. "I've got mashed potatoes and steak tips that are cooking right, I'll bring over the plate when it is ready." the woman stated, her warm smile returning once again. She pulled out a pitcher and filled it with ale then set that and a bottle of wine down, two tankards soon followed. She nodded to Geralt, "Keep an eye on the little one, the wine might hit him like a sack of rocks. Strong batch." she smiled.

Geralt took note of her warnings as he picked everything up and headed back over to Jaskier. At the table, Geralt set down the items that he had gotten for them, sitting across from Jaskier. "She has food currently cooking, she said she would bring the food over when it was ready." Geralt mentioned, pouring himself a cup of the horrible ale, but it's better than the taste of wine.

Jaskier gave a small hum of acknowledgement as he poured his cup full to the brim with the wine, he took a small sip of it, and Geralt visibly watched Jaskier melt back into his seat. At least he could give him that, a place to relax, and a bed to sleep in tonight. Jaskier deserved that after having to sleep under Geralt's cloak one night this week since it started to rain. Geralt just couldn't shake the idea that this life was not meant for Jaskier; that he deserved better. But there is one thing he knew, he couldn't force Jaskier to leave again, he wouldn't.

* * *

Jaskier stumbled through the door in a hazy mess, a strong hand guiding him into the room. Perhaps he _had_ drank too much wine, but for gods sake, it was delicious. He couldn't get enough of the sweet liquid. Though, Geralt wasn't much better off himself. He stumbled behind Jaskier, and while the other may think that Geralt is trying to help him, he's actually trying to keep himself steady so he doesn't completely topple over to the ground.

Geralt had tried a few sips of the wine, and while he may not be a wine guy himself, he has to admit, that wine was _good_. Upon seeing the bed, Geralt instantly collapsed into it, the clouds in his brain only lessening a tiny bit now that he wasn't standing upright. Cat-like eyes scanned over the bard who, bless his soul, was still trying to take care of Geralt even in his inebriated state.

"Shoes…shoes..gotta take them off before you sleep." Jaskier muttered to himself as he bounced around the floor trying to take them off. He was trying to remind himself of everything he had to do before he crashed, but clearly he was forgetting a lot of things. Geralt tried to stifle a laugh, watching the bard hop about like a rabbit, but he really couldn't hold it in. His laughter filled the air, a low, breathy sound as his arms reached forward and he took hold of Jaskier's hips to steady him.

"Settle down, bunny rabbit, just sit and take your shoes off." Geralt chuckled. Oh how he loved watching Jaskier. The bard gave a sheepish nod before settling on the bed beside Geralt and tugged his shoes off; discarding them across the room. His head tilted up as he looked over at the Witcher, who looked like he was holding something in.

"Geralt??" Jaskier muttered, his vision swimming, but was attempting to remain focused on the silver haired man before him. He didn't get much of a response before Geralt leaned in and connected their lips. It was just like in the forest; the kiss was gentle yet it was full of the love that Geralt just couldn't voice. The Witcher tasted of a sour mixture of wine and ale, and the occasional potion he had drank in the past few days. Jaskier's lips were soft whereas Geralt's were hardened by the years of scowling.

Though this kiss lasted far longer than in the forest, it still broke apart for both. It wasn't often that Geralt showed emotion, and when he did, Jaskier savored every moment of it.

"I…I need to tell you something." Geralt began, he knew he'd probably regret opening up like this to Jaskier, it could be used against him, but he went for it anyway.

"I have lived my entire life alone, even at Kaer Morhen, I was alone. The others would seclude me because I was bigger, I was stronger, I was better at fighting than they were, and they would seclude me as if we weren't all here for the same reason. When I was strong enough, I started out on my own, and I travelled for hundreds of years, not letting anyone get close, and almost everyone leaves in the end. They give up trying to gain my affections. But you- you're different. I know I already said that, but let me explain." Geralt sighed. The bard was probably far too drunk to remember any of this regardless, but he said it anyways.

"You _stayed_. Even though I treated you horribly, you stayed by my side. You made my life easier with your constant singing, and I became less lonely. When we…departed for a few months, I went back to that cold man you had met all those years ago, but I knew I had to get you back. And I had to do better this time. Because you deserve so much more, Jaskier. You deserve to live in a big house and wear fancy colors. You deserve the finest foods and wines, even if you can't handle them, you deserve _so much more_ than I can give you. But if you are happy here with me, I can't tell you to go. Because _I'm happy_ when you're with me." Geralt rambled on. He didn't hold eye contact while speaking, his words were drowning in slurred speech, but the sentiment was there. He meant every single word.

"Geralt- I'm happy here with you. I wanted a live of adventure, and that's exactly what you give me. You give me excitement. So while you may believe I deserve better, that someone out there is waiting for me, I dispute that, and I say, _you are my better_." Jaskier said softly, his words rang crystal clear in Geralt's mind, and the calm touch that Jaskier gave him on his shoulder was slowly bringing his boiling blood back to normal. Jaskier always knew what to say in order to bring the Witcher back to the ground. When Geralt flew too high, Jaskier was there to lasso him and tug him back down.

"However, I think we should sleep, I heard there was a bounty for this town, and honestly, we could use the coin. I just hope it's something easy, because you look like you just rose from the dead." the bard giggled. He pushed Geralt down to lay comfortably on the bed and turned to find a spot for him to sleep on. The bard was stopped when he felt Geralt's hand grab his waist and pull him down onto the bed. A small squeak erupted from his lips as he toppled over Geralt and safely landed on the other side of him.

"Mmm, you're staying here tonight." Geralt mumbled, burrowing his face into Jaskier's neck and the pillow that he was seated there. The bard didn't resist, this was a new thing for them to do. Sure, they've slept together on an occasion; perhaps it was too cold, or perhaps Geralt had to make sure that Jaskier wasn't getting any sicker. But this time was different. This time; warm air filled the room and silence overtook them as they both wandered off to sleep, Jaskier anchored against Geralt's chest with one strong arm by the Witcher.

This time it was _peaceful._


End file.
